The insides were warm with familiarity of the most profane kind. Going outside never seemed right. Going outside never felt like anything other than staying inside. It seemed like everyone unknowingly carried the inside inside them to carry out as they went out. Sometimes we felt like ripping off our clothes, running naked and jumping into the pool of wilderness, exploding with some forgotten mad ecstacy all this while. Did we do it? How could we? Our clothes were always neatly piled in perfect stacks of a desperate need to be tucked away warm and comfortable next to the fire burning on dead wood from the dark forest of pains, pleasures, and unknown measures. Going outside never happened.
T..T…Tonight was burning cold with an anticipation of a storm. This storm has been brewing since the day we lost the barefoot run.
This storm gives us goosebumps.
Quiet. Silence. s i l e n c e…